Talota's Gift
by Celtic Woman
Summary: A story of a mother's love.


Talota's Gift

The tie which links mother and child

Is of such pure and immaculate strength

As to be never violated.

Washington Irving

So careless, so maddeningly careless, I was not watching what I was doing. Instead I was thinking ahead to this years' Christmas day. The paramount thoughts in my mind were the smells of Rebecca's cooking and her warm smile, the delight of seeing Jemina and Israel open their presents, the songs to be sung and good harmony of the time spent with the Boone family. After all the pain and trouble of keepin' Christmas last year, I was really looking forward to it this year. I was not denying the desire to share in the celebration this time.

At least, luck was with me. I realized what I did before the full effects developed. And yes, my memory was still functioning. I remembered that this cave was nearby and I was able to find it. I will not be out in the open. With the wood I found just inside the cave's entrance, I could start a fire so the cave would be warm for a while. I wonder when I will begin to feel the effects of the spores?

The weather, while crisp and cold, had been perfect for wondering about and checking the trap lines. I had to collect a number of pelts that would help pay for the presents that I had ordered. I know that I saw the rotted toadstool when I disturbed the few leaves covering it as I reset the trap. The leaves must have protected it from totally decaying. But I did not realize that the back of my hand had come in contact with it. The fine spores are hard to see even if you are looking for them and I was not. I wiped the back of my hand across my lips when I pushed my hair back allowing a small amount of the spores to enter my system. I recognized the taste and knew immediately what I had done and what would happen. The amount I swallowed was not enough to kill me but I would not be able to reach Boonesborough or Chota before the hallucinations started. I knew that the effects were unpredictable but usually of short duration. I was glad that I had shelter from the weather.

I settled in. I started a fire, put a rabbit on to roast, spread out a blanket and made a pot of coffee. I was very relaxed and decided that I had possibly overreacted to the situation. Maybe the spores would not have any effect at all. So tomorrow, I would gather up all the pelts I had collected from the trap lines and head to Boonesborough arriving almost at the time I had planned to do.

I had never noticed the excitement that the aroma of the coffee created as I poured myself a cup. I raised the cup to my nose and inhaled the bouquet deeply. It filled my senses like a walk through a meadow of spring wildflowers. As I took a sip, the sensation of the taste was overwhelming and, oh, so delightful, like a snifter of fine, rare brandy. I had another sip of the coffee and stretched out on the blanket. I lay there and gazed at the show the fire was putting on. It crackled, roared and beat the air like the military drums at the Royal Academy. I did not like the sound of the drums so I took out one of the pieces of wood that I had just put on the fire. It stopped sounding like drums. The red and yellow flames changed colors each time, I blinked my eyes, blues, pinks, purples, all the colors of the rainbow.

The whole fire seemed to be covered by a great white aura. It shimmered and danced above the fire as it caressed each flame.

All at once, black flames shot up piercing the white aura. A loud, screeching Creek war whoop followed. "I won. I may be dead, but you will carry the guilt of my death to your grave. It will cripple you. Every time you feel the scars on your back, you will know that you killed your brother. Ah, brother, do you feel my hate? It lingers in the air and follows you. I have my revenge because you feel the guilt in killing me. It would not be so if I had killed you, as it should have happened. You have no honor, Cherokee Dog."

He is here with me. I will never be free. Why did he hate me? Why did he make me kill him? I wanted to be his brother.

Now a purple flame reared up, higher than the other flame, and with a crisp, English accent shouted, "By denying your English side and returning to your mother's people, you denied me. I knew you wanted my love, a father's love, but I could only love you if you became what I wanted."

Why couldn't he love me? He helped create me, but was ashamed. What did I do? Why?

Then a white flame flared up, higher, brighter than the others. It spread out until it covered the black and purple flames, seemingly to smother them. A soft, but strong feminine voice slowly grew until it filled the cave, "Stop, stop it, both of you, John, Taramingo! I will not let you destroy him. The hate, the torments, the unreasonable demands, why did the love I had for each of you not mean anything?

Taramingo, the things you did against your brother because you were jealous of him were horrible. Why did you beat him so badly and force him to kill you?

John, in your desire to make your son in your image, you tried to take away his Cherokee heritage, to force him to be what he did not want to be, but worst of all, to deny him a loving father. You knew I wanted you to give your son the best of your world, when I asked you to take him to England when I died. I hoped that you would grow to love him. Why didn't you?

Taramingo, you wanted to be a great war chief. With positions of authority come duties and obligations, like the ones I agreed to when I married your father, to help bring peace between our people. I married John to better the relations with the British. I cared for your father very much as I learned to care for John. Both unions started as obligations that came with the place our family held."

All at once, Mingo felt a warm, gentle sensation wrap around his shaking body. Gently enclosing and caressing his body in a protective silk cocoon that was strong enough to deflect all the pain and hurt he was feeling. A voice, a voice he had longed to hear, spoke to him,"I am here, I am always with you, Caramingo. You just have to learn to open your mind to me and I will come. I will protect and love you forever."

"Mother, Mother! I need you so. I miss you so," Mingo whispered as he surrendered to the loving arms that shielded him from the flames of hatred, sorrow and pain. From the flames, his father and Taramingo continued to call to him with words that cut as deeply as the whip wielded by Taramingo or the lashings given by his father when he had not obeyed or gotten high grades. Mingo did not hear them anymore. He was safe in his mother's care.

"Peace of mind is my gift to you, my son. You are not responsible for the actions of others, whether it's Taramingo's hate without reason or your father's inability to love you unconditionally. Do not let what the actions of others forced you to do cripple you for the rest of your life. Live your live to the fullest. Find love and peace. Your honor is intact. "

I awoke slowly, not knowing where I was at first, but feeling so at ease and peaceful, especially in my mind. The habitual thoughts of my father and brother did not come. I could see the sun's rays shining through the cave's entrance. It was time to go and get ready to celebrate Christmas with the Boones

As I started to leave the cave, I decided to survey the rest of my surroundings. As I rounded the corner, I suddenly remembered why I knew about this cave. Daniel and I had trailed a bear to it last year.

Indeed, it was the den of a bear. A soundly sleeping bear had allowed me to share it's home for a very strange night. I thanked the bear for its hospitality, wished it a Merry Christmas and quietly, very quietly backed out of the cave.


End file.
